


Let My Fingers Bleed, As Long As My Heart No Longer Does

by fandomslut1998



Category: Bring Me The Horizon, Sleeping With Sirens
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Brief suicidal thoughts, Crown The Empire - Freeform, Implied substance abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Macklemore - Freeform, Mayday Parade, Mentions of Suicide, Mild Alcohol Abuse, Mild substance abuse, SayWeCanFly - Freeform, Self-Harm, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, all time low - Freeform, mentions of brutal violence, quotes from
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 06:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4597065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomslut1998/pseuds/fandomslut1998
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>..the next morning was the first time that my my eyes were tired, my fingers were sore, and my heart was full. The words of a stranger changed my perspective of myself and my existence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let My Fingers Bleed, As Long As My Heart No Longer Does

**Author's Note:**

> So... This is what happened when I was given this topic in English last year. It got 100% (or would have if I included the *nonexistent* planning page), so I figured it was good enough for you guys to read. It's probably a tad unrealistic - mostly the very first sentence (but isn't a lot of Tumblr like that?). I can't remember the source I used (if I did I would cite it so you could look it up & clear up any confusion you have while reading this), so if there's any bits that seem not to quite fit it's probably b/c it's relating to the source. Anyways. Read on!

_ _

_Four years before writing this, Kellin Sykes witnessed his brother brutally murder their parents and adopted younger sister. Not wanting to believe what had occurred, he went to school the next day as usual, choosing to pretend that nothing had happened. The bodies of his family remained on the kitchen floor for three days before they were discovered by a concerned family friend. Kellin was brought in by the police for questioning, and he finally told them everything that he knew, but by that time his brother had disappeared. The 14 year old was put into foster care immediately, having no close relatives in a position to deal with a distraught teenager. He didn't stay in one home for more than six months at a time, constantly breaking rules until they could no longer be ignored, and when he turned 18 Kellin moved into a rented flat in North London. At the time this memoir was written, he was starting his second year of college. His original major was in Creative Writing ELA, but he soon switched to study music with a minor in General Psychology, hoping to one day help others heal through melody as he himself was still struggling to do. This was the last piece of writing he handed in, and he has since given permission for it to be published in several magazines. It has also been used in events and conferences such as TEDTalk._

 

_His brother was never found, and Kellin has lived with the guilt of withholding information that may have helped the authorities apprehend him ever since The Incident._

 

_\- - -_

 

Days like this, the days when I can feel the world closing in on me, when I feel like everyone is staring at me and they can see everything, these are the days that I go home and play guitar.

 

I'm not generally one of those people that 'just messes around' - when I say I play, I do mean that I  _play_. I sit on the edge of my bed with my back straight and my head down, and I hammer my smallest finger on the smallest string, then do the same on the B string. E A D G B e, over and over and over. Set the capo on the second fret, then make my instrument sing Oasis along with my voice - A, Asus4 7, A7, DmajF#7.  _After all, you're my wonderwall_. The calming melody soothes me, and I play and I sing and I play, until my throat is sore and my fingers are cracked and bleeding. I go down to the kitchen and eat leftover doughnuts or ice cream or Kraft Dinner for my supper, then I go to my room again and I get out my notebook.

 

The cheap cardboard cover is falling off, and there are newer words written overtop of old ones, and it carries memories of the disaster that was my first therapist before she finally handed me the book and told me to  _just write_ , but I don't go anywhere without it. I like to have a place to write down my thoughts, lyrics, quotes, phone numbers, email addresses, local talent show dates, the name of a new band.. Anything that needs to be written down or remembered goes in that notebook. The inside of the cover is marred a quote written in smeared black Sharpie. Every time I open my notebook, the first thing I do is reflect on it - "You think I'll ever play like that?" I don't remember where I got it from, but it is what improves me as both a musician and a person because it gives me a goal to reach for. When I went to an Eagles tribute concert soon after I first heard it, I posed that question to the man next to me. I didn't know him, and he certainly didn't know me, but his answer was the reason that I went home that day, got out my dad's old Fender Squier, and played All Time Low and Green Day throughout the night. Because of that simple "I'm sure you can, lad," the next morning was the first time that my my eyes were tired, my fingers were sore, and my heart was full. The words of a stranger changed my perspective of myself and my existence.

 

 

Before I started to obsessively play music, I obsessively listened to it. The only way I could escape from the cold planes of the never-ending prairie of reality was to put on my headphones and crank the volume up. I coasted through the days after The Incident on the words of Bring Me The Horizon, Panic! At The Disco, Sleeping With Sirens, and 5 Seconds Of Summer. I wrote their lyrics in my notebook, on scraps of paper, and on my coursework while I wrote my own on my skin with crimson ink. Although in terms of my grades I wasn't floundering, I certainly wasn't excelling either. I was floating aimlessly - I had no goals. I had lost honour in what I did and certainty in what I might eventually achieve. I needed a mother to console me, a father to guide me, a sister to annoy me, and a brother to look up to - but I didn't. I yearned to escape, and while drinking and cutting and drugging myself into oblivion took away the pain for awhile, it always seemed to come back stronger afterwards. The next morning, while I was puking up what I hadn't eaten the day before, I pictured my mother rubbing my back, my father offering to take the day off of work. All I could do was picture and reach out for what I didn't have - I needed something that I could use all the time, something that would never run out or let me down. Music was able to do that. I still destroyed my body, but not with the desperately reckless abandon that I did before.

 

It wasn't like this immediately after The Incident - at first, I was surrounded with people who claimed that they only wanted to help me, to be my friend. Although I had never been particularly social to begin with, I accepted their advances even though my trust had been compromised - that is to say, I didn't divulge my innermost thoughts to any of them, but I tried to act in a way that let them know that their kind gestures and words were appreciated. However, it wasn't long before I began to grow weary of of the pitying smiles and soft hands on my back. They all thought I was fragile, that sympathy would heal the cracks, but they only grew deeper and wider with each curious stare from outsiders and gentle side hug from acquaintances. Sympathy didn't help at all - it only sharpened the desire for what I really wanted, for what wasn't there and never would be again. I began to shrink even farther into myself, to reject all forms of contact. After I almost broke someone's nose when they tried to ask if I was okay ( _did it look like I was? Honestly, that's one of the most stupid questions that anyone van ever ask_ ), people got the idea pretty quickly, and I was on my own once again. That was when I started to wonder why I was still here - I certainly didn't think that I deserved to be. Why hadn't my brother attacked me with that knife instead of our sister? I was standing there, too.. And so, the self-hate started. I was, and still am, filled with guilt that I didn't at least try to stop him.

 

At night, after I put my guitar away, I lie in bed, replaying The Incident over and over. Seeing him reach behind his back and grab the knife Mom left laying on the counter as she quizzed him about a test he had coming up, hearing our sister start to cry, not understanding what was happening, smelling the thick blood as it gushed out of Dad's jugular, feeling my own quiet sobs convulse my body as I held a hand over my mouth to keep from throwing up and drawing attention to myself in the doorway. I wake up with my long bangs stuck to my forehead with cold sweat partway through every night, but I suppose it's better than not being able to sleep at all, like in the early years. Even with the strongest prescription sleeping pills, I would be plagued with night terrors, so the doctors took me off of them altogether. I suppose they were afraid that I would hoard them and commit suicide, but was one thing they never had to worry about - I already knew that I was too cowardly to do it. I had stared at the bloody blade in my hand, trying to gather the courage to make just one more cut, just a little deeper, many times - but I found that I was never able to actually go through with it. After these episodes ,I crawled into bed with my jeans still on and my headphones in, listening to songs like Therapy by All Time Low, I Found A Body by Insane Clown Posse, Bruises by Train ft. Ashley Monroe, and Bullet by Hollywood Undead. I wallowed in misery and self-pity, degrading myself for being such a coward, but now I'll admit that I'm thankful to whatever God kept my from going through with my intentions.

 

Years later, I'll admit that I still get the urges, but rather than add more scars to my already permanently damaged body, I get out my guitar instead.

I may not have much to be honoured by in my life, and I may be uncertain as to where I'm going in the future, but thanks to the meaning and passion I've found in my music, I know that when I die it won't be by my own hand, and it won't be as a result of the trauma that my brother left behind all those years ago. I may not have honour or certainty, but I know that I will someday. All I need is to believe that  _one day, I'll play like that_  - I'll play like my inspirations, and maybe with some of them. Even if I don't I'll always have the satisfaction of being able to play well enough to chase away both depression and the past.

 

 

My fingers may bleed, but my soul and my body no longer do.

 

\- - -

 

 _Thank you, music -for being there even when I felt no one else was_.

 

 

 

\- - -

"Sometimes I can't look at myself as anything but broken, but I'll try my best not to look at myself as anything but beautiful." - _Anything But Beautiful, SayWeCanFly_

 

"I can feel air inside my lungs again, all because of you. I can rebuild my life and start again, all because of you." - _Johnny Ringo, Crown The Empire_

 

"And they say, 'Don't forget where you come from. Don't die holding on to your words. Cause you know you got a whole world to change, but understand who you got to change first.'" - _Victory Lap, Macklemore + Ryan Lewis_

 

"Give me back my oxygen mask, I don't want to feel the walls of my heart collapse, so put me under." - _The Art Of Anaesthesia, SayWeCanFly_

 

"I've broken every rule that I've known since you told me that I've got to have passion. Honestly, you've got me all wrong, I am just a boy on my own, and looking for some promising action. Tell me what it takes to move on." - _I'd Rather Make Mistakes Than Nothing At All, Mayday Parade_

 

"Underneath this fragile frame lives a battle between pride and shame. But I've misplaced that sense of fright, this crown of thorns is perched atop my spine. But listen closely as I testify, dependency has been a thief at night." - _Neon Cathedral, Macklemore + Ryan Lewis ft. Ryan Lewis._

 

"Arrogant boy, love yourself so no one has to, they're better off without you.. Give me therapy, I'm a walking travesty.. You can take back your misery.. You can choke on your misery." - _Therapy_ , _All Time_ _Low_

**Author's Note:**

> this is not as shit as most of my works
> 
> so that's good, i guess
> 
>  
> 
> comment, leave kudos, all that x


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